


Feel The Burn

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [85]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Frustration, Lectures, M/M, Spanking, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 85: Indifference.  Our ever patient Sammy actually manages to lose his temper - and with that many Tops in the house, who wants to guess what happens next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel The Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright notice: I hold the copyright for Mistress Tess & Tessera, original characters, and multiple storylines associated with her. Someday (hopefully sooner than later) you'll see her in a series of novels, I ask that at this time others refrain from use of the character or venue without express permission. She is allowed to play in fanfic, I just request that I know about it. Frankly, I hesitate to post any of the fics with her in them, it's always a struggle... but... here we are.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Sam’s been bouncing back and forth between his father’s so-called-friends for a few hours now, following often contradicting orders to the best of his ability. Dad had pulled him aside yesterday, and mentioned he might want to show a little more willingness towards the people who were gathered there at Tessera out of the goodness of their hearts, willing to give the Winchesters a hand, and he’d reluctantly agreed.

But Tess had interrupted the meditation Mathieu had assigned him for help with an errand, which had been interrupted by Missouri when she tried to test his defenses, and her lecture had been pre-empted by a second one from John, and Sam was frankly heading to the bedroom to garner himself some peace, growling to himself viciously as he went, thinking there was no one in the kitchenette to hear him. Wrong. Pastor Jim’s normally mild voice was full of censure.

“That’s no kind of attitude, Samuel, you go on and get that straightened out.”

Sam stopped in his tracks, and experienced the curious sensation of something breaking. His patience, he noted, with lawyer-like precision. He meant to just take a deep breath, and toss off yet another yessir, but that wasn’t exactly what happened.

“All of you bossy sons of bitches can just go FUCK yourselves-“ was what came out, and at his top volume, too. Mathieu and Tess appeared from the hall door, Missouri from the third bedroom that Tess had opened up in their suite, Dean and John from the living room, and everyone was trying to speak at once, which dragged another - “I said FUCK IT~” from him just before he tried to turn on his heel and dash for the bathroom to lock himself in – hopefully Tess didn’t have keys to that – but Jim grabbed him, surprisingly strong. The voices rose again, but one beat the rest of them out.

“That’s ENOUGH. I will take care of it.” All heads turned towards the commanding tone, which surprisingly enough came from Dean. The young man looked at no one but Sam, and when there were no objections, he strode forward and pulled Sam out of Jim’s grip. “I’d suggest that the lot of you give us some time. You too, Dad,” he said respectfully firm, as John took a step forward. And that said, he hauled Sam into their bedroom, closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure.

“Fuck you,” spat Sam, turning his back on his brother.

“One more chance, Sam. Sucks with everyone here riding you, I’ll give you one more chance to be civil.”

Sam knew what he meant, and it just didn’t seem to matter. “I don’t fucking care what you think, leave me the hell alone.”

“Sorry, bro. Doesn’t work that way,” he says calmly, and moves fast. He has to. Sam’s been training hard lately, getting better than ever. There’s just a few seconds of dodging, keeping his eyes trained on Sam’s wild ones, because the boy’s telegraphing every move with them. Then he finally has Sam in a secure grip, and marches him to the foot of the bed, sitting down heavily. 

It’s work to put Sam over his knee, the kid’s struggling and there are tears flying already, so when he gets the cargo pants down, he takes ‘em all the way off, so that Sam’s naked butt is pointing up to the sky, tipped at just the right angle.

“Anything to say, Sammy?” His voice is kind, but stern.

“NO!”

“Let me know when there is,” he says, and starts in with the spanking. He doesn’t bother with a warmup, and Sam lets out a yell with the first one. Vocal this time. Well, that’s fine. There’s an audience, after all. His hand comes down with precise timing and the finesse of the exact angle needed to create a near instantaneous burn, over and over and over again, and as he swats, it gets easier to hold the kid, there’s less squirming and more tension. Dean knows from experience that the tension just means the kid’s in shock, trying to cope with the pain, and what he’s looking for is quite a ways beyond pain tolerance. When Sam shifts to bury his head safely in his arms, Dean pauses, running his hand up the rock hard muscles of Sam’s back.

“You don’t mouth off like that, Sam, you talk to people. You’re the one who’s good at minding that, you know.”

A muffled “NO!” reaches his hearing, and he shakes his head and resumes spanking, trying not to flinch when Sam jumps. At this rate, Sammy’s gonna have trouble sitting down for a day or two, because Dean’s purposefully not holding back, trying to hurry things along, and a dozen well placed swats later, a plea floats up to him. Time for another pause.

“You owe an apology to Pastor Jim, Sammy.”

“Y-y-yessir,” comes the shaky sob. Neither one of them is ever rude to Jim, if they can possibly help it. The gentle man’s just given them too much, been too much of a rock for their dad for them to want to, and it says a lot about how far Sam let himself be pushed that he actually swore at the man. 

“That’s it, Sammy,” He soothes, his hand traveling over the tense muscles again. “I think you ought to talk to the rest of them and explain what the problem is-“ Sam twists in his grip, and he lays down another dozen spanks before Sam’s sobbing something that Dean hopes are the words “I will!”

“Good. You need to explain what the problem is – and I’m not talking about all together, either. God knows I wouldn’t do it, either,” he says, and Sam cries a little harder. He soothes the boy gently, until the tears subside a little. “You talk to them one by one, and you start with Dad. I’ll be right there with you, no one’s gonna punish you any more over this, you got that?”

“Yeah?” Sam sounds hopeful through the tears.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “How many of them do you need to talk to?”

“All of them…”

Man. This sucks, Dean thinks. “All right. Did I tell you anything that upset you?”

“N-no…”

“Good. Then I make that twenty four more swats, six for each of them.”

“D-dean, please, no…”

He pauses, as if thinking. “I can give you the last round right here, over my knee, Sammy, or I can let them know they each owe you six, when we talk to them.”

“NO!” Sam’s voice is thick with horror. “YOU do it!” And then his head buries itself again, and Dean hears what might be a plea, though he ignores it, and lays in with the final round of swats. He borrows a little from their Dad, makes it a lightning round, covering every inch of backside and upper thighs, leaving Sam sobbing hysterically. Dean hands him up, scoots back on the bed to let Sam cry into his lap, rubbing his back all the while.

“How come you let it get so bad, Sammy,” he asks quietly, no censure to his tone whatsoever. He doesn’t like having to spank the daylights out of the kid, but better Dean himself than any of the others.

“Dad told me to try, and I tried too hard, just tried to be indifferent to the whole shitty mess. It didn’t work, Dean.”

“C’mere, it never does,” he says, and pulls Sam up to him, presses in a long kiss, only stopping when he can feel the tears slipping down Sam’s cheekbones again.

“Gotta cut that out, buddy.”

“Yeah,” comes the soft agreement. “Do I hafta go now?” The question is asked even as the tall boy is curling himself around Dean, entwining the two of them together in a way that Dean knows is intimately comforting for Sam.

“Nope. You stick with me, baby. I know what you need.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Verve Pipe - I Want All of You


End file.
